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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229725">Red Herring</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/volley/pseuds/volley'>volley</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Enterprise</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:41:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,957</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25229725</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/volley/pseuds/volley</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A traitor is on board... An elaborate plot is hatched to catch him</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Grateful thanks to Gabi2305 and RoaringMice for beta reading this story. As usual their suggestions have made it a whole lot better.<br/>--------------------------------------<br/>Chapter One</p>
<p>… an exemplary officer, a man dedicated to his job…</p>
<p>Archer's words were ricocheting off Trip's mind. He could not take his eyes off the torpedo casing into which, in a few moments, his best friend would be committed to the stars. He felt… breathless. As if the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Things had happened too fast.</p>
<p>… This crew knew that they could rely on him, he ran his department with a strong hand but also…</p>
<p>Just yesterday he'd given Malcolm a playful shove, as the man had rushed down the corridor to the Shuttlepod bay, worried that he'd be those oh-thirty-seconds late for his Captain. Little had he known that it would be the last time he'd see him. The two going to the compound on the trading outpost to purchase deuterium… a purchase that never took place. The knot in Trip's throat became painful. Malcolm had briefly turned and given him such an intense look and bitter-sweet smile… As if he'd known.</p>
<p>… Starfleet will always be grateful for…</p>
<p>Well, that knot served at least to tamp down the anger which was quickly expanding in Trip's chest, threatening to make its way up his windpipe and explode in an unwarranted string of foul words: the eulogy that Archer was giving was cold, almost detached. What was wrong with Jon? Was it so difficult to say they had lost a friend, for heaven's sake? Someone with whom they'd gone through thick and thin, someone who, during those terrible months in the Expanse had sacrificed himself beyond the call of duty to keep them safe, even compromising his strong sense of morality to be loyal to his Captain and the mission? Where was Jon's heart, dammit?</p>
<p>And now, let us stand in silence for a minute before we send our comrade Lieutenant Malcolm Reed onto his last journey.</p>
<p>Trip reached out and put a hand flat on the torpedo casing. He had hoped this day would never come. He had known, of course, that an Armoury Officer's job held that risk, but the man had seemed invincible, had come through so many near desperate situations…</p>
<p>Go in peace, my friend – he silently told him, picturing in his mind a smug Malcolm Reed pressing the torpedo launch button – if anyone can enjoy this send-off, that is you.<br/>---------------------------------------</p>
<p>"Capt'n."</p>
<p>Trip quickened his pace to catch up with Archer, who, once all was finished, had left the Armoury in a hurry.</p>
<p>"Not now, Trip," Archer said, sparing him but a sideways glance.</p>
<p>"Not now? What do you mean not now? I think I've a right to know exactly what happened down there! You've been avoiding me ever since the shuttlepod docked," Trip spat out. Something was wrong, very wrong with the Captain, besides the obvious, and he could not figure out what. Jon stopped and turned to face him, and Trip almost bumped into him.</p>
<p>"A crazy accident, I already told you," Jon said, continuing in a tone devoid of any emotion. "There was a shootout between gangs and Malcolm was caught in the crossfire."</p>
<p>"And that's all you're gonna tell me?" Trip furrowed his brow. "Malcolm wouldn't have been caught unaware," he added, speaking more to himself than to Archer, "on away missions he was as sharp as a hawk…"</p>
<p>Archer heaved a deep sigh. "It happened fast." He put a hand on Trip's shoulder. "Look, Trip, I know how difficult this is for you, but let it rest. It was unforeseeable, that is all there's to say, unfortunately."</p>
<p>Trip felt a pang of sharp pain in his chest. "I didn't even get to say good-bye to him," he breathed out. "Phlox transported down and… he brought him back in that damn torpedo casing."</p>
<p>For a moment, Archer looked lost for words. "It's for the best," he eventually said, "he wasn't a pretty sight." Which only managed to send another stab of pain through Trip's heart.</p>
<p>"Have you called his parents?"</p>
<p>"Not yet."</p>
<p>Trip tried to engage Archer's shifting eyes. "Maybe I ought to call Madeline."</p>
<p>"Don't," Jon quickly put in. "Not just yet," he amended. "I'll let you know when Starfleet has informed the family."</p>
<p>Archer's hand tightened on Trip's shoulder, and that was it. Trip watched Jon go on his way and disappear around a bend in the corridor. He had wanted to lean on him, find comfort in shared grief, but apparently it would not happen. Yes, the Expanse had changed them. Some more than others.<br/>---------------------------------------------------</p>
<p>I know, it's a short chapter, but I hope it's whetted your appetite. Looking forward to some reviews!</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Two</p><p>So here he was, once again alone on a mission, once again having to rely on his five – even six or seven – senses to keep alive and well and complete his task. A task he did not particularly enjoy. He had deluded himself that he could leave his past as a covert agent behind, having signed with Archer, but it always seemed to come back and haunt him.</p><p>Inside the trading compound, Malcolm caught a reflection of himself in the glass of a window and stopped, pretending to be interested in the goods on offer but brought to a halt, instead, by what he had seen. Phlox had done one-helluva-job, as Trip would say, at his disguise. This was the first glimpse he had caught of it. Note to self: install mirrors in the Shuttlepods.</p><p>The long red hair and beard – courtesy of the Doctor’s hair-growth stimulation device and a good dose of hair dye – made him look like his Irish second cousin, but the aquiline nose and forehead ridges gave him a threatening appearance, which was not a bad thing. Those sort of… wings coming out of his neck were also quite impressive. What was the name of the species he allegedly belonged to now? Ah yes, the Sharguey.</p><p>In front of the reflecting pane, Malcolm allowed his thoughts to stray for a moment to his “funeral”. By now it was certainly over. His friends… Trip, Hoshi, Travis… and his SIC Bernhard Müller… He hadn’t liked the idea of having them grieve over an empty casket, but the Captain had been adamant: those were the orders: Starfleet deemed it too risky to let other people in on the secret of this covert operation. Only the two of them had to know. And Phlox, for obvious reasons.</p><p>Section 31 had warned Starfleet of an infiltrator among the crew, someone who had hitched a ride to put on offer the blueprints of a tractor beam that was being developed. The project was – he’d been told – at an advanced stage, which undoubtedly made it interesting for more than one of the alien species that frequented this busy trading outpost  – an outpost where Enterprise, to all appearances, had only arrived to bargain the purchase of a batch of deuterium. The traitor had been a thorn in the side of Starfleet for a while now, but finally they seemed to be on the right track to identify him; which was the reason for this red herring: with Enterprise’s Chief of Security thought to be dead, there was a good chance that whoever this person was would make a false move, be it on Enterprise or on the surface, where he, Malcolm, would set up his trap.</p><p>Was he one of the new faces who had recently come on board? After destroying the Xindi spheres and returning to Earth, some of the crew had preferred to be reassigned and had been replaced. Not that Malcolm could blame those who had wanted to stay back. While he had admired the courage and determination of each and every crewmember in the Expanse, the experience had been a harrowing one even for someone like himself, hardened by his professional training and his past in Section 31. Well, he only hoped that the traitor would not, instead, be one of the people with whom he had shared the rollercoaster of the past year. That would be a hard blow.</p><p>Malcolm pushed Enterprise out of his thoughts and turned about. Time to get to the lodgings Archer had arranged for him. The compound was like a small indoor town and he had been given a map to navigate it. He glanced at the padd he was holding and started in the right direction. He’d settle down and then get to work. He was going to make sure the right people heard of his quest for technology and of the price he was willing to pay for it.</p><p>----------------------</p><p>“At ease, Ensign.”</p><p>Archer watched Bernhard Müller, Malcolm’s SIC, relax minimally. The man was obviously under a lot of stress, after his chief’s sudden “demise”, and he felt for him.</p><p>“I have called you here for obvious reasons,” Archer began, pacing his ready room, dodging the struts of bulkhead.</p><p>“I understand, Sir,” Müller said, eyes fixed ahead.</p><p>He looked as uncomfortable as Reed at the beginning of their mission. Hell, that seemed ages ago.</p><p>“Lieutenant Reed thought highly of you,” Archer continued, catching Müller wince slightly at the words. “And it seems only natural that you should expect to step in as Armoury and Security Officer,” he went on. “However…” He stopped pacing and turned to face him. “I’m going to ask you to wait a few days. We must let our people absorb the shock of this loss before I announce a replacement.”</p><p>Müller who had been listening as straight as a rod, shifted his eyes to him just long enough to say, “Sir, I wasn’t expecting anything.” He returned to look ahead.</p><p>Not for the first time, Archer thought that his crew was the best.</p><p>“In any case,” he resumed, “even without an official appointment, as the Lieutenant’s SIC it falls on you to… overlook things.”</p><p>“I’ll do my best to have both departments running smoothly, Captain.”</p><p>“I have no doubt you will.”</p><p>Archer went to his desk and sat down. Now for the bomb. “I have also called you here because in your new position… there is something I need to make you privy to, Ensign.”</p><p>He collected himself. Harris and Starfleet were afraid of leaks and had ordered him not reveal the deceit, but he owed it to his crew to keep them safe, so he had obtained permission to inform at least Reed’s SIC and Hoshi, due to the positions they held, of the possible presence of a traitor on board. To be honest, he found it hard not telling them that Malcolm was not dead but on a covert operation; he knew he could trust his senior staff. But orders were orders, no matter how absurd. If, in the Expanse, his crew had not obeyed some of his seemingly foolish orders, Earth might not be there now.</p><p>“We have received… an alert from Starfleet Command. Intelligence warns us of a traitor out to sell the blueprints of a new technology.”</p><p>Müller frowned. “Do we know anything more specific, Sir?”</p><p>“Just that he’s thought to be on board.” He engaged the Ensign’s gaze. “I need you to keep a sharp eye on things and report to me if you notice anything suspicious. And to keep this strictly confidential, of course.”</p><p>Müller blinked. “Aye, Sir.”</p><p>Archer nodded. “Dismissed. On your way out, please tell Ensign Sato that I wish to see her.”</p><p>He leaned back. He wasn’t looking forward to speaking to Hoshi. Rumour had it that there was something special between her and Malcolm. Not outright romance, but an attraction of sorts. The doorbell chimed and Archer heaved a deep breath.</p><p>“Enter.”</p><p>“You wanted to see me, Captain?”</p><p>You could always tell Hoshi’s mood by looking at her. This time there was no mistaking it. “Yes.” Archer let his gaze mellow. “How’re you feeling, Hoshi?” He still felt protective towards the linguist he had strong-armed to sign on, even though the fine Ensign in front of him now was a lot different from that fearful young woman.</p><p>Hoshi tightened her lips, and a cloud passed across her dark, expressive eyes. “Yeah, well… to be honest, pretty awful, Sir.”</p><p>Archer sighed. “I know.” </p><p>A lie. He could only imagine how she, how anyone would feel.</p><p>“After all we’ve been through, all the dangers of the past year…” Hoshi continued, eyes on the floor. “Lieutenant Reed wouldn’t have liked to go like this, caught in a stupid crossfire between alien criminals.”</p><p>“No, he wouldn’t… Wouldn’t have,” Archer corrected himself.</p><p>Indeed, Malcolm would face death without blinking, in the line of duty, but this idea of Harris, that Malcolm should fall in such an… such an unheroic way… He knew Malcolm wouldn’t want to go like that. He wondered, now, if there had been malice on Harris’s part, and regretted not making up, at least, that Reed had died pushing him out of danger. He should have thought of that, but his mind had been too occupied with the worries of a possible infiltrator in their midst.</p><p>After a pause Archer continued, “Listen, Hoshi, I need you to monitor communications closely.” That peaked Hoshi’s interest.</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“We’ve been put on alert by Starfleet. Someone might be trying to sell some blueprints. A traitor, thought to be on Enterprise.”</p><p>Hoshi shifted on her legs, looking both puzzled and concerned. “Could it have anything to do with the shooting in the compound and Lieutenant Reed’s accident?” she wondered.</p><p>Archer avoided her gaze. “No, that was… a freak thing, a settling of scores. Nothing to do with this.” He felt ashamed of the lie and hoped he had sounded convincing. “Only you and Bernhard Müller are privy to this,” he went on. “Starfleet are insisting on keeping it as under wraps as possible, they fear the ship’s grapevine. However, you could be of great help: the man might try to communicate with someone in the compound, so I insisted you should know.”</p><p>“Just when we would need Lieutenant Reed…” Hoshi breathed out, leaving the rest unspoken. She straightened her shoulders. “Thank you, Sir. I’ll let you know if anything comes up, Captain.”</p><p>Archer was glad when the door closed behind her. He hated being deceitful with his crew. And he wasn’t even doing such a good job of it. Maybe the mission in the Expanse had taken too much out of him, for he didn’t feel he had enough energy for this elaborate pretence. His eulogy of Malcolm had sounded far from sincere to his own ears, but he just hadn’t been able to put his heart in it. Trip must think him an unfeeling SOB. Archer sighed at the thought that he had to keep the Engineer and T’Pol, along with the rest of the crew, in the dark not only about Malcolm but also about the threat in their midst. He felt exhausted; the sooner this was over the better. He missed their days of exploration.</p><p> </p><p>I doubt any of my readers really thought that I’d killed off Malcolm Reed. Nooooo way. So be sure to stay tuned if you enjoy a bit of action with Enterprise’s Armoury Officer.<br/>Thanks for all your reviews, something is off with the site for, at the moment, it doesn’t allow me to reply to them. Will do as soon as I can.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Ok, I don't think that any of the readers who have read my previous stories ever thought that I'd killed off Malcolm Reed... <br/>A bit of action with Enterprise's Armoury Officer is my favourite...<br/>Thanks for the kudos and reviews.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Three</p>
<p>In front of the mirror, Malcolm pulled down his colourful jumper – much too much yellow and green for his taste – and passed a hand through his fiery hair. What an eyesore! Phlox had insisted that the Sharguey dressed in striking garments and that, to play the part convincingly, he ought to as well. The Doctor had chosen this species because they were from a distant part of the quadrant, so the risk of Malcolm bumping into any of them would be slim. With a last critical look at himself, Malcolm turned and slipped out of his lodgings.</p>
<p>Like any trading outpost, the compound was a mayhem of different languages, species and… smells. Not all of them pleasant. All kinds of goods were on offer, and the noise was unbearable. Harris had indicated where he ought to set his bait. Malcolm studied that location from a distance. It was a dirty-looking bar in a shabby part of the compound. He could hear loud music coming out of it, and the buzz of people trying to communicate above the music. Brilliant. What was he supposed to do, shout at the top of his lungs, “I’m looking for new technology, preferably under the table?” With a mental curse, he approached the entrance. </p>
<p>“Hey, looking to have a good time?” the female of an unspecified species threw at him, winking, as she leaned against the wall by the door. </p>
<p>She was past her prime, the sad image of a desperate soul. Malcolm ignored the offer and pushed through the door.</p>
<p>The place inside was dark and smoky, with flashes of bright coloured lights crossing it in rhythm with the piece a group on a small side stage was performing. It was cacophonic and hiccupping, but the people seemed to enjoy it thoroughly, judging by the reactions of the crowd. Malcolm quickly took in the place’s main coordinates, as he would of an alien terrain on a landing approach; then headed for the bar.</p>
<p>The bartender, a brawny bloke of indefinite age with a bald head covered with intricate tattoos, jerked his chin up to him, the music being too loud for a proper question. Malcolm eyed the beverage in front of the alien standing next to him; it seemed to match the ale he’d been told would pose no health hazards to humans, so he pointed to it and a moment later he had his own glass in front of him.</p>
<p>It seemed like ages, but finally the musicians took a break. Taking advantage of the lower decibels, the bartender, who had been casting him glances all along, finally addressed him.</p>
<p>“I haven’t seen one of you people in at least five years,” he said, his expression impenetrable.</p>
<p>That, as far as Malcolm was concerned, was a great piece of news. “Yes, I am rather out of my neighbourhood,” he said. He looked around, leaned with his forearms on the bar, and added, “I’m here on business.”</p>
<p>“Isn’t everyone, on this outpost?” the bartender shot back, baring an ugly set of teeth.</p>
<p>“Maybe,” Malcolm commented, raising his eyebrows, “but there’s business and business.” He had cloaked the words in just enough mystery to let trespass that he was looking for something under-the-counter. </p>
<p>The man seemed to consider him more closely. “What kind of business, then?” he asked outright.</p>
<p>Malcolm knew he was onto something. “You know what kind,” he dared. There was a long silence, during which he held the bartender’s cold and cutting gaze without flinching. “I’ve been told this is the right place.”</p>
<p>The bartender smiled again, a knowing smile this time. “It might be.”</p>
<p>“Good.” </p>
<p>Enough dancing around. Here goes nothing. Malcolm scanned the room; then, seeing that he was adequately distanced from other people, he leaned close to the man and said, “Look, I hear that you might have some blueprints on offer.”</p>
<p>The man let nothing transpire. He finished drying a glass, then jerked his head again, beckoning Malcolm to follow him.</p>
<p>“What if I do?” he threw at him once he had led him to a back corridor.</p>
<p>Malcolm let the corners of his mouth curve up. “I’m prepared to pay very well for them.”</p>
<p>“You may not be the only one.”</p>
<p>Time to call the bluff. Malcolm finished the ale he was still holding and pushed the glass against the bartender’s belly, shrugging. “Well, if you’re not interested…” He made as if to turn and go.</p>
<p>The man put a hand on his arm, stopping him. “Look, I’m just a go-between; but I’ll tell the right guy. He’s due soon. I can arrange a meeting. First, though, I have to know what form of payment you propose.”</p>
<p>“The best.” Malcolm made a pause, for effect. “Gold,” he said. “Think that’s acceptable?” He broke free of the man’s grip. “When should I be back, then?”</p>
<p>“I’ll call you. Tell me where to find you.”</p>
<p>“Oh no,” Malcolm replied in a charcoal voice. “You tell that right guy to bring the blueprints. I’ll be back tomorrow. Same time.”</p>
<p>--------</p>
<p>T’Pol blew out the last of her meditation candles. Some of her tension had passed, but she was to join Captain Archer and Commander Tucker in the Captain’s private mess and she anticipated the atmosphere would be strained. As she walked to her destination, T’Pol reflected that the accident that had cost the life of Lieutenant Reed had been… unfortunate in more than one way. She briefly wondered if what she was experiencing was grief. She had grown to appreciate the Lieutenant’s quiet determination. He had balanced, with his rationality, the emotional unruliness of other crewmembers, namely the two she was about to meet. Emotions had been vibrant in the Expanse, infecting even her, leaving her confused. She needed to regain her centre, but she doubted that a meal with the Captain and the Commander, right after the Lieutenant’s death, would help her in that respect.</p>
<p>“T’Pol,” Archer greeted her as she entered, rising from his chair.</p>
<p>“Hi,” Commander Tucker just said, turning from the porthole against which he had been leaning.</p>
<p>T’Pol tried not to think of all that had passed between herself and the Commander – whom she no longer called Trip, not even in the privacy of her mind – in the past months. A… relationship between the two of them had no future. She was married to Koss now.</p>
<p>Archer invited her to have a seat, holding her chair out for her, and she silently complied, acknowledging her crewmates with a slight tilt of the head. Both men followed suit.</p>
<p>“Capt’n, what about that deuterium?” the Engineer asked after a moment.</p>
<p>T’Pol was struck by the dullness of his voice; it held none of his usual enthusiasm. The Captain seemed to hesitate, at which the Commander added, “We’ve come to this outpost to purchase the stuff and frankly, it’s already cost us too much.” Trip ran a hand through his hair. “Since you want me making the purchase, I want to get this done and get out of here.”</p>
<p>“I know, I know,” Archer replied. “With what has happened... it was sort of moved to the back burner.” He poured some water in their three glasses. “I’ll have Hoshi set up a new meeting with the supplier.”</p>
<p>“Captain,” T’Pol said, when the conversation between the two seemed to lull, “I have noticed signs of… increased anxiety in the crew.”</p>
<p>“Yeah, well, that’s hardly surprisin’, don’t you think?”</p>
<p>T’Pol ignored the critical overtone in their Chief Engineer’s voice and went on, “Some distraction might prove beneficial for morale.”</p>
<p>The Steward came in and placed a serving bowl filled with some kind of pasta on the table. Archer thanked him and, when he had left, cast her a frowning glance. “What did you have in mind?”</p>
<p>“We are orbiting a trading outpost,” T’Pol said, lifting her eyebrows. “The compound has a lot to offer. The crew might enjoy the diversion of spending a few hours off the ship.” She noticed that Commander Tucker’s jaw had tightened as she spoke.</p>
<p>“That’s where Malcolm was killed,” Trip said, voice tight.</p>
<p>“The compound is a vast place,” she calmly opposed. “It is the size of some towns, on Vulcan. And violence is reported to be rare.” She turned to face Archer. “I believe the odds of another accident to be negligible.”</p>
<p>Archer began to spoon pasta on their plates. She tried to read his expression, but his eyes were on what he was doing, and his thoughts remained hidden to her.</p>
<p>“Capt’n, you’re not gonna let---”</p>
<p>“T’Pol might have a point, Trip,” Archer interrupted him. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here, and staying on board with little to do is hardly going to help people feel better.”</p>
<p>Commander Tucker held his fork with its speared piece of pasta in mid-air, clearly disturbed. “I can’t believe I’m hearin’ this,” he said harshly. “It’s bad enough we have to go back for the deuterium, but to let the crew go down for a stroll and some shopping!”</p>
<p>A strange expression came over Captain Archer’s face. T’Pol thought it was quite peculiar. The Captain usually – as humans said – wore his heart on his sleeve, but ever since they had left Earth to come to this outpost, he had kept his thoughts very much to himself.</p>
<p>“I know you’re hurting, Trip,” Archer finally said. “We all are, but we must stay objective. We can’t undo what’s happened, but we can at least start to get past it.”</p>
<p>At which their Chief Engineer stood up abruptly and with an “Excuse me, but I’m not hungry anymore,” stormed out of the mess.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you  to those of you who left kudos or commented!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Four</p>
<p>A notification blinked at the bottom of his screen. He hesitated a moment, looked around himself, then clicked on it. He watched some words scroll across his screen.</p>
<p>*Fine new ale*</p>
<p>They were the code words for “promising buyer.”</p>
<p>He typed *Will come and taste it soon* and sent the reply.</p>
<p>Things couldn’t be better. It was going to be a piece of cake. There would be no need for him to disappear, or to fake orders to get himself transported down to the compound; or to sneak a download of the blueprints past the nose of their pretty little Comm Officer, or even worse – security. Although luck was with him, as their Chief of Security had quite conveniently arranged to get himself killed. Still, if he could do this himself, get down there legitimately and deliver the goods himself, so much the better. Archer had granted the crew some shore leave, with people going down in small groups. Another stroke of luck.</p>
<p>*Arriving tomorrow, 14:00 hours* appeared on the screen.</p>
<p>Right. He’d just have to… </p>
<p>“Finished with those diagnostics, Crewman?”</p>
<p>Damn. He quickly exited the conversation. “Yes, Lieutenant, all systems check out okay.”</p>
<p>He must be more careful. Where the hell had Hess materialized from? He watched her give him a long, inquisitive look.</p>
<p>“You’re supposed to be working, Crewman,” she finally warned. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed that you weren’t.”</p>
<p>He bit his lower lip, acting the part he was supposed to. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, it won’t happen again.”</p>
<p>“It better not, because if it does, I’ll report you to Commander Tucker.”<br/>

----------</p>
<p>Was that a glitch or something else? Hoshi tapped away at her console, determined to find out.</p>
<p>----------</p>
<p>Archer had slept badly. As he shifted his scrambled eggs around his plate, not hungry enough to dig into them, he wondered how Malcolm was doing. There were things he would like him to know, like the fact that he might chance upon some crewmembers. Giving up on his breakfast, he placed his napkin on the table and let himself out of his private mess.</p>
<p>As he headed for the bridge, he mulled over the situation. Archer had stalled Trip as long as possible, but in the end, he had arranged Trip’s meeting with the deuterium supplier, to keep up pretences. And that had him worried. Granted, Phlox had worked wonders with Reed’s disguise, but he wouldn’t put it past Trip to recognize Malcolm if he were to bump into him.</p>
<p>“Morning everyone,” he said, entering the bridge. A chorus of “Morning, Sir,” greeted him, and T’Pol got up from the Captain’s chair, but with an “as you were” he headed for his ready room.</p>
<p>The first groups of shore-leavers were boarding the shuttlepod. Trip had been appalled by T’Pol’s suggestion, and no wonder. The Vulcan’s suggestion, however, couldn’t have come at a better time: his mission was to apprehend the traitor, and what better chance to do so than to offer him a free ride to the compound, to go nibble at the bait Malcolm should have set by now? Sure, the man might make a false move while he was on Enterprise, get caught doing something suspicious by Hoshi or Müller, but their best bet was still Malcolm’s trap.</p>
<p>Archer sat at his desk and tightened his jaw in frustration. He was a man of action, but right now he could only wait and see what happened. </p>
<p>----------</p>
<p>The compound was a hell of a place – a place Trip thought he’d never come back to. So why he’d entered this bar, he had no damn idea. Maybe it was because the music was way too loud and the flashes of light way too blinding, and he hoped they would drown his thoughts, which kept going to a certain Lieutenant who had got himself killed on this God-forsaken outpost. Returning to the silence of his quarters was not something he was looking forward to. After three years of living in close quarters with the same people and especially after what they had faced together, losing one of them, let alone his best friend, in such a senseless way was like losing a part of himself. And to think that at the beginning of their mission Malcolm was the last person he thought he’d get close to…</p>
<p>What the hell, he had done his duty and purchased the damn deuterium. He could have a drink or two before heading back. Trip walked up to the bar and signalled the bartender, who jerked his chin up. If that was a way to ask him what he’d drink, well… Trip did the same.</p>
<p>“Ale?” the bartender screamed, “Or something stronger?”</p>
<p>“Something stronger will do.” He’d take his chances with alien gut burner.</p>
<p>Soon a glass with a viscous, yellowish liquid was put in front of him. “This ought to cheer you up,” the man behind the bar shouted. “You look like you need it.” Trip smirked, peered at his beverage against the lights that were criss-crossing the room; then dared a sip. Strong was an understatement. He grabbed the drink and went to find himself a more out-of-the-way spot, at a table in a dark corner of the place.</p>
<p>--------</p>
<p>Malcolm put a hand to the small of his back, feeling the object that was pressing against it, tucked in his waistband: the phase pistol was a comforting presence. As he made his way to the bar, he shut everything out except the job at hand. He was good at that; in his profession he had to be. He mentally rehearsed what he would do once the “seller” showed up. He’d unobtrusively stick his pistol in the man’s back and lead him out of the door. Smooth as silk. Or at least he hoped so, for he was not sure the bartender – or anyone else for that matter – would not meddle, should they realize what was going on.</p>
<p>As Malcolm made his way to his rendezvous, he noticed a few Enterprise uniforms around the compound. Archer had obviously allowed some shore leaves. He had probably had his reasons, but it made his anxiety go up a few notches, even though the chance that someone might recognize him in the crowd was virtually null. Fortunately, the bar was in a rather rundown part of the compound, hardly attractive to his crewmates who wanted to have a good time. As he approached the place’s entrance, he cast a glance inside. Coast looked clear. He pushed through the doorway and perched himself on a stool, engaging the bartender’s eyes in a silent enquiry. </p>
<p>“Be here soon,” the man shouted over the usual din.</p>
<p>He hoped so. He was looking forward to accomplishing this mission and returning to the life of Lieutenant Reed, Armoury and Security Officer of the starship Enterprise. </p>
<p>----------</p>
<p>He stopped to watch a tall, large, way too muscular… something juggling some spheres. They produced a dinging sound and gave out a sweet scent, and ladies of all species seemed to go mad about them.</p>
<p>Once the blueprints were sold, he’d take a nice stroll around the compound. Provided he had enough time… He hurried on his way. The shuttlepod would collect his group of shore-leavers in two hours and thirty minutes.</p>
<p>There was the place. He made as if to push the door open and stopped in his tracks. Just by chance his eyes had strayed to a man with a blue jumpsuit who was fending the crowd with a glass in his hand, heading for a table. And not just a blue jumpsuit: none other than his chief, Commander Tucker! Biting his lower lip, he leaned with his back against the wall just outside the door and wondered what to do. The cursed man was going to spoil everything! What the hell was he doing here anyway?</p>
<p>“Looking to have a good time?” a female voice called from the other side of the door.</p>
<p>He cast a glance at its owner. “Get lost.”</p>
<p>Well, if bad came to worse, there was only one thing to do, really.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to all my readers and reviewers!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter five</strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Malcolm felt a tap on his shoulder. It was the bartender. The man jerked his head towards the entrance, where someone was coming through. Malcolm acknowledged the hint with a small nod.</p><p> </p><p>So <em>that</em> was his man! Davies… The quiet and obedient new engineer… Who would have thought?</p><p> </p><p>He watched him approach and exchange a knowing look with the publican, who shifted his eyes to Malcolm as a way of introduction, saying, “I think you two have a common interest.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm went straight to the point. “I hear you’ve got something I’m looking for,” he said, giving his best alien smile but keeping his eyes averted. He felt pretty confident of his disguise, especially with a new member of the crew, but one could never be too careful.</p><p> </p><p>“Could be. Depends on the offer,” Davies replied nonchalantly.</p><p> </p><p>“The offer is one that cannot be refused, believe me.” Malcolm turned to the bartender. “Where can we have some privacy?”</p><p> </p><p>“First door along the corridor.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm started to move from the bar. “I take it you have the merchandise with you?” he asked Davies, who followed suit.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course. And you’ve come prepared too, I hope.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm gave him another smile. “I’m loaded. You’ll see in a moment.” <em>Pun intended</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Suddenly, someone bumped into him.</p><p> </p><p>“Sorry…”</p><p> </p><p>A rush of adrenaline coursed through Malcolm’s body. He turned abruptly ready to face a possible danger and found himself face to face with Trip. With an inner curse, he quickly lowered his gaze, but with his peripheral vision saw his friend lift an empty glass towards the bartender. He had taken no notice of him, or so it seemed. Malcolm turned away. Brilliant. What would happen, now, between Trip and Davies?</p><p> </p><p>“Gimme another one,” Trip ordered the bartender.</p><p> </p><p>Slowly, not to attract unwanted attention, Malcolm started towards the corridor. He checked on Davies and saw that Trip had barred his way.</p><p> </p><p>“Davies. What are you doin’ here?” Trip asked his subordinate in what sounded like more than a simple question.</p><p> </p><p>“Commander,” Davies greeted him. “I’m on shore leave. Came for a drink.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a convenient pause in the music, which allowed Malcolm to hear their exchange.</p><p> </p><p>“Who was that alien you were talkin’ to?” Trip enquired. He turned to cast a distrustful glance towards Malcolm, who cringed.</p><p> </p><p>“Who, that clown in colourful costume?” Davies gave a small huff of a laugh. “Don’t know, he said something I didn’t understand.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hmm,” Trip didn’t seem too convinced. “Thought I saw you speakin’ to him.”</p><p> </p><p>“No, Sir I did not.”</p><p> </p><p>Trip frowned. “Be careful,” he warned. “We don’t need another accident.”</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t worry, Sir.”</p><p> </p><p>The traitor broke into a smile, and Malcolm felt a knot of anger form in his gut. He despised a man without honour.</p><p> </p><p>“Anyway, I’d stick to ale if I were you,” Trip advised him, matter-of-factly. “Their stiff one can kill a horse.”</p><p> </p><p>Davies glanced at Trip’s glass, which had been refilled. “You seem to be enjoying it, Commander,” he commented. “Helps you forget?”</p><p> </p><p>Trip straightened his shoulders, a none-too-pleased expression coming over his face. “You’re out of order, Crewman.”</p><p> </p><p>“I apologize, <em>Sir</em>,” Davies properly replied, though he sounded far from apologetic.</p><p> </p><p>The music group started again, drowning their voices. Malcolm saw Trip turn away from his subordinate, as if to put an end to their conversation. His eyes were drawn to something that had suddenly flashed in the younger man’s hand. A blade? Trip had seen too much! In a fraction of a second, Malcolm’s mind considered his options. Shooting in the middle of a crowd was not one of them. So, he shoved a couple of people out of the way and threw himself at the traitor.</p><p> </p><p>They rolled on the floor. He felt pain in his arm, then something hit his head and all went black.</p><p> </p><p>---------</p><p> </p><p>Hoshi had been cracking her head over those <em>glitches</em> for a couple of hours now, without getting anywhere. All she could tell was that, whatever it was, it seemed to be something originated from a computer in engineering. Still, after what Archer had told her, maybe she should report it. She glanced at the ready room and got up from her post.</p><p> </p><p>---------</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm came to in a dimly lit room. His head hurt, his left arm hurt, his hands were tied behind his back and he had been thrown in this… storage room? like a bag of potatoes. He blinked. In the background, he could hear the thumping of rhythmic music – the music from the bar. Enough light filtered through to make out that this must be a storage room somewhere off the bar proper. At least he was still alive. He rolled on his side and lifted himself to a sitting position, with a groan of pain. Trip… Concern started to surge though him, but he hardly had the time to acknowledge it, because a pair of hands grabbed him by the front of his jumper and gave him a good shake.</p><p> </p><p>“Who the hell are you?” a well-known but hostile voice growled. “Why did you attack my crewmate?”</p><p> </p><p>Ah. Trip too was alive. And of course, he thought that this strange-looking alien had gratuitously attacked his young subordinate.</p><p> </p><p>“Trip,” Malcolm started. He took a breath to continue but didn’t get a chance.</p><p> </p><p>“How do you know my name? Speak!”</p><p> </p><p>None too gently Trip jerked him again, making Malcolm hiss in pain. “Bloody hell, I save your life, and this is how you thank me?”</p><p> </p><p>Bewilderment shone in the blue eyes boring into him, momentarily replacing the anger that had been there. “It’s not possible,” Trip said under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, it is,” Malcolm groaned. Trip was looking at him, seemingly afraid to believe him. “Don’t you try to deceive me, whoever you are,” the man growled, from the pit of his soul. “You may sound like Malcolm, but you don’t look like him.”</p><p> </p><p>Well, they had seen some very strange things indeed, during these three years of space travel, and it was natural that he ought to be wary of someone who sounded like his friend but looked nothing like him.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm was beginning to see black spots in front of his eyes. He had to find a way.</p><p> </p><p>“Look,” he tried, the urgency of the situation putting a touch of anger in his voice, “I’m the one who threatened to shoot you in Shuttlepod One, when we were running out of oxygen. That little airlock incident was left out of both our reports... Would I know about it if it weren’t me?”</p><p> </p><p>It took him a moment, but finally Trip released his grip, and Malcolm slumped against the wall.</p><p> </p><p>“You are <em>alive</em>?” Trip wondered in disbelief.</p><p> </p><p>“Long story.” Malcolm closed his eyes tight, taking a moment to regroup. Then, when he felt a bit more with it, he bent forward. “When you’re over the shock, would you mind untying my hands?” Trip still seemed a bit hesitant but complied, starting to work at his fetters.</p><p> </p><p>The silence was beginning to be a presence. “You ok?” Malcolm enquired, to break it.</p><p> </p><p>“Just a bump on the head.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm cast a glance over his shoulders. “That’s not what I meant…”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, how do I think I feel?”</p><p> </p><p>Trip finally got the better of his bindings. He eyed with some concern the stab wound in Malcolm’s arm. “At least your blood is the right colour.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m fine, just a flesh wound,” Malcolm said, with a dismissive glance at his bloodied sleeve.</p><p> </p><p>“Well, now I know it’s you.”</p><p> </p><p>Trip offered him his right arm and Malcolm grabbed it, letting Trip lift him to standing. As soon as he was stably on his two feet, Trip erupted. “For Pete’s sake, Malcolm, are you gonna tell me what’s going on or should I make it an order?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm couldn’t blame his friend for being angry. He heaved a deep breath. “I was sent on an undercover mission.”</p><p> </p><p>“Really,” Trip commented flatly. “I thought you’d gone to a masquerade.” A realization suddenly flashed across his gaze. “That’s why you gave me that look, in the corridor, before you left, didn’t you?”</p><p> </p><p>“I couldn’t say anything,” Malcolm said ruefully.</p><p> </p><p>Trip just shook his head, as if the words didn’t mean anything to him, so Malcolm went on, “To make a long story short, someone has been selling Starfleet blueprints to the best alien bidder, and Intelligence warned us he had hitched a ride on Enterprise. Apparently, this bar is the place to go if you’re into that sort of business. Phlox did one of his make-up jobs so I could play the buyer’s part.”</p><p> </p><p>“Davies?” Trip wondered with a frown. “I thought there was something not quite right with him.”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes.” Malcolm looked around the room, his tactical mind at work. “Why on earth have you come here anyway?”</p><p> </p><p>“I… don’t know. The Captain sent me to negotiate that deuterium purchase – I suppose he wanted to keep up appearances – and then… I just walked in here for a drink.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm heard in his friend’s voice the tension of the past couple of days. He turned to him. “Look, I’m sorry that… you know…”</p><p> </p><p>“Why <em>the</em> <em>hell</em> didn’t the Capt’n tell me?” Trip fumed, hands on his hips. “He let me think… I really believed that you’d been killed!”</p><p> </p><p>He sounded hurt, betrayed. “His hands were tied, too,” Malcolm said. “The Captain was following orders. If it’s any comfort, no one was told.”</p><p> </p><p>Trip’s mind still seemed focused inwards, so Malcolm forced his own back to the problem at hand. “We’d better get out of here,” he said, cradling his injured arm. A thought struck him. “How come your hands were not tied?”</p><p> </p><p>“Who says they weren’t?” Trip said.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, our resident Houdini.”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm’s attempt at lightening the mood was finally rewarded by a little smile. Then Trip reached into one of his pockets and produced a handkerchief. “First let me bandage that arm of yours, Loo-tenant, before you bleed to death.” He cast him a funny glance. “Nice beard, by the way.”</p><p> </p><p>“I hate the bloody thing.” Malcolm said, passing a hand over it.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm let Trip tend to the wound, watching his friend as he worked. They were in a fix, no doubt. but together they’d find a way out of it. He just hoped Trip would forgive him once they were done.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Love your comments! Thank you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Six</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Davies turned to his partner in crime, fuming. “You idiot! You really made a mess of things this time!”</p><p> </p><p>“How was I to know?” the bartender countered. “He seemed okay! And what are you complaining about, anyway? It was me who got you out of it, broke a bottle on his head, wasn’t I?”</p><p> </p><p>“And why the hell did you knock out my Chief? It’s obvious he’s in Starfleet! You may have screwed this whole thing up, you fool!”</p><p> </p><p>“He was going to meddle! I don’t like brawls in my place, everyone knows that.”</p><p> </p><p>Davies passed a nervous hand through his hair. “All right, all right. In any case, we have to finish the job. Tucker saw me talking to that alien, it’s too dangerous to leave him alive.”</p><p> </p><p>The bartender’s eyes grew threatening. “No one ever said there would be killings,” he warned in a dark voice.</p><p> </p><p>“And what the hell else should we do with them at this point? Apologize, offer them a drink and let them go?” Davies bit his lower lip, thinking. “They both have to go… I’ll tell the captain that the alien attacked his Chief Engineer, killing him, and that I killed the alien trying to defend him.” He snorted. “I might even get a commendation.”</p><p> </p><p>The bartender, who towered over him by a good ten centimetres, grabbed him by one arm and dragged him even more deeply into the corridor at the back of the bar. “I run a business here. I know it’s not very reputable and that it’s not exactly frequented by distinguished people,” he spat out in cold anger, “but I draw the line at murder. If people hear that coming to my bar they risk their lives, I’m finished.”</p><p> </p><p>“You want your cut, though, don’t you?” Davis spat back. “What would you do without it? I’ll tell you what you’d do, you’d just go back to rotting like you did before I came. No more fashionable music groups and the crowds they attract, just a few petty criminals and prostitutes hanging around.” He broke free of the man’s grip and pushed him out of the way. “Those two have to be dealt with, and if you don’t like it, tough. Come on,” he urged.</p><p> </p><p>------</p><p> </p><p>“Can’t see a thing,” Trip complained as, one knee on the floor, he tried to pick the door’s lock. “How about a little light, Malcolm?”</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm had been feeling along the walls for switches, but so far hadn’t found any. He looked up to check if there was anything resembling a light fixture and spotted instead what looked like a rectangular window. “No light switches, but I think I might have found another way out,” he said.</p><p> </p><p>Trip turned and looked up to where he was pointing. “Huh. Might be easier than getting through this door. Help me move that table. Can you manage with your arm?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, yes, I’ll be fine.”</p><p> </p><p>“Ah - right, I was already forgettin’, must be the red hair,” Trip teased him.</p><p> </p><p>They stood on the table and checked the window. It had a latch, which Trip pried open quite easily, and it swung up. The opening wasn’t large by any stretch of the imagination, but big enough.</p><p> </p><p>“After you, Lieutenant,” Trip said, intertwining his hands to give Malcolm a push up.</p><p> </p><p>Malcolm was glad of the help. For all his ‘fine’ act, his arm had started to throb, and he wasn’t sure he could pull himself up on his own. Grunting, he managed to slip through the opening, and let himself drop down. He fell in a crouched position, but things started spinning and he ended up on his butt. He scrunched his eyes shut, biting his lips not to moan in pain.</p><p> </p><p>“Come on, Mr. Fine,” Trip said a moment later, having landed beside him. “Looks like you need a hand.”</p><p> </p><p>------</p><p> </p><p>Davies swung the door open, ready to slay in cold blood. A knife was the cleanest way, and he had one ready in his hand. He narrowed his gaze; the room was too dark, and he could only make out shapes.</p><p> </p><p>“Switch the damn lights on,” he called back to the bartender. A moment later he was searching the storage room for his victims in vain. He looked up, saw the open window, and cursed.</p><p> </p><p>------</p><p> </p><p>“Engineering?” Archer asked, echoing what Hoshi had just said.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Sir. I can’t be sure it has to do with what you’ve told me, but I thought I should tell you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Can you tell where from, in Engineering?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Captain.”</p><p> </p><p>Archer opened a channel from his desk. “Archer to Tucker.”</p><p> </p><p>“This is Hess,” a female voice replied. “The Commander still hasn’t returned from the outpost, Sir. How may I help you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Please report to my ready room, Lieutenant.”</p><p> </p><p>“Davies?” he was wondering a few moments later, wincing.</p><p> </p><p>Archer remembered the man’s face well. Though Davies was one of the new crewmen who had not been on board long, he had always made it a point to get to know each and every one of the people who served under his command, so he knew who the man was. Or he thought he did.</p><p> </p><p>“Sir, I don’t know what he was doing, but it wasn’t work-related, of that I am certain,” Hess said. “Indeed, he went as far as admitting it.”</p><p> </p><p>Archer opened a link to T’Pol’s station. “T’Pol, can you tell me if Crewman Davies has signed up for shore leave?”</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, Captain,” the Vulcan replied after a moment. “He is on the outpost now.”</p><p> </p><p>“Page him,” Archer ordered.</p><p> </p><p>Seconds ticked by.</p><p> </p><p>“He is not replying, Captain.”</p><p> </p><p>Archer bit his lip. “T’Pol, get all our people back on board. Archer out.”</p><p> </p><p>Archer felt the hair at the back of his neck rise. He did not want to jump to conclusions, but things were starting to point in one direction.</p><p> </p><p>“Dismissed,” he said to Hess and Hoshi.</p><p> </p><p>When they had left, Archer wondered what to do. He could send Müller down, but until he had definitive proof that Davies was indeed their man he should not interfere with Reed’s mission. Speaking of which… His hand went to the pocket where he kept a special communicator he and Reed had received from Starfleet Intelligence, a device they said would be less easily detected. He retrieved it. Should he? He ought to inform Malcolm that they might have identified the traitor. After all, if the moment was not convenient Reed would not answer. He straightened in his seat and pressed a button on it, activating the comm.</p><p> </p><p>------</p><p> </p><p>His plan was going down the drain. Davies had not replied the page from Enterprise for obvious reasons. Now he heard the device he had taken from the alien buzz. He reached for it and took it out of his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s that?” the bartender anxiously asked.</p><p> </p><p>Davies did not reply. He put the device on the floor and crushed it with his heel, watching its small red light stop blinking.</p><p> </p><p>------</p><p> </p><p>On Enterprise, Archer saw the red light go off. For a moment he considered what that might mean; then reached to his desk and opened a link to the Armoury. “Ensign Müller, report to my ready room.”</p><p> </p><p>“Right away, Sir.”</p><p> </p><p>------</p><p> </p><p>Things were starting to get really ugly. Davies turned and grabbed the bartender by the front of his shirt. “I need passage out of here, and fast.”</p><p> </p><p>“I run a bar, not a—”</p><p> </p><p>“Find me that ride,” Davies roared, placing the knife at the man’s throat, “or I’ll kill you.”</p><p> </p><p>“All right, all right,” the bartender choked out. “I have a friend who might be able to help.”</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Chapter Seven</strong>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They seemed to have ended up in a corridor that ran along the back of several several shops, bars, restaurants and the other places that were in the compound. There were passageways running off it and garbage bins overflowing with garbage. Trip wrinkled his nose against the smell as he looked right and left, trying to decide which way to go.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What d’you think?” he asked Malcolm. He was concerned about his friend. Malcolm looked pale and Trip could tell, even in the poor light of this back corridor, that the makeshift bandage that he had tied around his injured arm was now drenched in blood. Jumping through a window and down a good three meters obviously had not helped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It probably reconnects with the main part of the compound on either end,” Malcolm came back, passing his good arm over a sweaty brow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“All right. Let’s try this way, then.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trip cast his friend a worried look and took point, his concern going up a notch when Malcolm did not complain. “It would be nice to have a communicator right now,” Trip said under his breath. But of course, they had been stripped clean.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>------</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernhard had never used the transporter before and was somewhat curious about what it would feel like. When he arrived in the room, T’Pol was already there, ready to beam him and two security men down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ensign,” she said as a way of greeting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ma’am.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It is a safe mode of transport,” the Vulcan said after a moment, which made Bernhard aware of the expression that must be painted on his face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes, Ma’am. Of course.” He stepped onto the platform, beckoning his men to follow him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn’t out of fear of the transporter that he looked the way he looked. It was because of what Archer had just revealed to him, namely that young Crewman Davies was likely to be their spy and that – and this had really plastered that expression on his face – Lieutenant Reed was on an undercover mission, hopefully alive, probably in danger, under the disguise of a brightly-dressed, red-haired, bearded and cranial-ridged alien. <em>That</em> – he mused – would be something to see.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With a tingling sensation, he saw the Subcommander fade away and they re-materialized in the compound’s parking lot, beside their shuttlepod, which was embarking with the last of the shore-leavers to bring them back to the ship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Ensign,” Mayweather said in surprise. “What are you doing here? I thought all Starfleet personnel was to head back…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Captain’s orders.” Bernhard cast a glance inside the shuttlepod. “Have you seen Crewman Davies?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Davies of Engineering? He’s not in this group. Should I wait for him?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, it’s all right, Ensign. Take off when you’re ready.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bernhard saw that Travis was puzzled, but to his credit the man did not make further enquiries.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Let’s go,” he said to his men. Nodding a salute to their helmsman, he led the way to the entrance to the compound.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>------</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So, how do we get in touch with the ship?” Trip wondered aloud, when they reached the end of the passageway and found themselves facing the compound’s busy corridors.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t know. What I know, is that I’m going back to that bar to have a <em>word</em> with that bartender,” Malcolm said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It sounded like he meant it too. “Whoa, just a second, Malcolm.” Trip placed himself squarely before him and looked him straight in the eye. “You are in no condition to get into anything with that guy,” he warned. “And you’ve messed up your disguise,” he added. In the passageway Malcolm had torn some of his prosthetics and was now a more credible version of himself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was sent on a mission and I intend to complete it,” Malcolm predictably came back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bleeding, woozy and unarmed?” Trip countered, hands on his hips. “Now, I know my punch is as good as anyone’s, courtesy of your combat lessons,” he added, “but let’s try not to do anything stupid here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Trip, I can do it,” Malcolm testily insisted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“As the senior officer, my first responsibility is to get a wounded man safely back, <em>Lieutenant</em>.” He punctuated the word. Sometimes with Malcolm the only thing to do was pull rank.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Malcolm opened his mouth, then closed it again. He fell back against the wall, defeated and obviously annoyed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What do you propose we do, then, let Davies get away?” he asked hoarsely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trip rubbed his chin. “Best thing to do is find the outpost’s control centre and---”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Bloody hell!” Malcolm pulled off the wall, suddenly enlivened. “There is the son of a bitch!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trip turned and looked in the direction he was looking. Davies was indeed rushing through the crowd. Before he could open his mouth to speak, Malcolm had taken off, with unsuspected energy. “Wait,” Trip called, as he started after him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was late afternoon and the place was bustling with people of all shapes and colours, but the blue uniform was quite easy to keep track of. Catching up with, was a different story, for Davies had a good advantage on them, especially in a thick crowd like this. Unexpectedly, the man stopped. He looked around, as if waiting for someone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Malcolm, generally the nimbler between the two of them, had slowed down. ‘<em>I can do it’ my foot</em>, Trip thought as he overtook him; the man’s breathing was laboured, another characteristic sign of <em>fineness</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trip saw a man join Davies, and he looked a real <em>gentleman</em>. The two started speaking and walking towards the compound’s exit to the parking lot. Trip was just a few metres away when the young Engineer, who kept casting nervous glances around, caught sight of him. With a swift movement, the man grabbed the weapon that was hanging on the other guy’s side. Trip swerved just in time to avoid the first shot. Screams erupted, people scuttled. Another shot came dangerously close. He lost his balance and took a moment to regain it, and he knew then that the next shot would not miss him. But instead of the bullet he felt Malcolm’s weight crush down on him, and they fell together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Put down that weapon, Crewman,” a voice shouted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Trip turned onto his back to see Ensign Müller pointing a phaser directly at Davies’s head. Two security men had their weapons aimed at the traitor also. Relief spread over him. Davies tightened his lips, then dropped his weapon, which Müller quickly picked up. Its rightful owner was nowhere to be seen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Commander, are you all right?” Müller asked in concern as he handcuffed the traitor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fine,” Trip breathed out. <em>Talking of which.</em> He turned. Malcolm was out cold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is that…”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He saw Davies’s eyes go wide, and Müller cast a weird look at that strange version of his SIC. Not knowing what Bernhard was privy to, he just said, “Page Enterprise, Ensign. And tell them to alert the Doctor, your boss will need his ministrations.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thank you to those readers who let me know tthat they are enjoying this. Next chapter will wrap the story up.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chapter Eight</p>
<p>Trip quickly stepped off the transporter pad, leaving room for Phlox and his medics to take care of Malcolm. Silently, he headed for the corridor, only briefly meeting Archer’s gaze as he passed by the man. He kept his anger well bottled up.</p>
<p>“Commander,” Archer stopped him, voice commanding attention. Trip cast a glance over his shoulder. “I’ll see you in my ready room in one hour.”</p>
<p>Trip left without a word. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place: why Jon’s eulogy had been so infuriatingly cold; why he had stopped him from calling Madeline; why he had agreed to send people down on shore leave… Still, Jon was his friend! He should have told him Malcolm was not dead. Instead he had let him grieve without a word.</p>
<p>As soon as he had entered his quarters, Trip let himself drop on the bed, sagging. Tiredness, exacerbated by the recent drop in adrenaline, crushed down on him. How nice it would be to give in to it and go to sleep, instead of having to face Jon, full as he was with resentment.</p>
<p>Fighting his exhaustion, he picked himself up and headed for the shower.</p>
<p>------</p>
<p>“Come.” Archer braced himself for the conversation that was long due but, to his surprise, it was T’Pol.</p>
<p>“Captain,” she said, stepping in to let the doors close behind her. “There is a rumour going around the ship. Lieutenant Reed is said---”</p>
<p>“Yes,” Archer interrupted her, “it’s true. Malcolm is alive. His death was faked as part of a covert operation. No one could know.”</p>
<p>There. The raw facts. He was too uptight to give the longer version right now. To her credit, T’Pol only lifted her eyebrows.</p>
<p>“Then I believe you should inform the crew as soon as possible, and make it official,” she said with her customary poise.</p>
<p>“Yes, T’Pol, I will do that, but first…”</p>
<p>As if on cue, his doorbell rang again. This time it was Trip.</p>
<p>The tension that still exuded from his Chief Engineer did not bode well. “Dismissed,” Archer said to his SIC.</p>
<p>“Captain, Commander.” T’Pol nodded and let herself out.</p>
<p>Archer got up from his chair and went to front of his desk, leaning back on it. No point beating around the bush. “There was nothing else I could do, Trip,” he said in a tired voice. Hell, he’ shouldered a heavy burden in all this mess, and he felt like it was catching up to him now.</p>
<p>“So I’ve been told,” Trip coldly replied.</p>
<p>The man stood at parade attention and kept his eyes straight ahead. Archer couldn’t remember the last time Trip had taken such a formal stance when alone with him. He heaved an inner sigh. The Expanse had put a strain on their friendship, and this last incident wasn’t going to help patch things up.</p>
<p>“I was under direct orders,” Archer insisted, wanting him to see reason. “Much as I hated them---”</p>
<p>“Did you?” Trip lashed out. He turned to look at Archer. “The man I met didn’t think twice of breaking them when he needed to.”</p>
<p>“That was long ago, Trip.”</p>
<p>Archer knew what Trip was referring to. He thought back with a touch of wistfulness of the days when he was a brash young officer who had had the gall of stealing the NX Beta to prove that his father’s engine worked. Trip, then a Lieutenant, had been his partner in crime. There had been a camaraderie between them, then, which now seemed a thing of the past.</p>
<p>“I am sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Things have changed. Our mission has changed me. In the past year, I have learned the importance of the chain of command. Hell, I think we have all learned the importance, as well as the burden, of giving and following orders.”</p>
<p>Trip closed his eyes and after a moment his shoulders relaxed.</p>
<p>“I can keep a secret, Capt’n,” he said in a pained but less angry voice. “You oughtta know that.”</p>
<p>The informal language, Archer knew, was a good sign. “I do know that,” he said, heart on his sleeve, for he truly felt bad that his actions had made the man question his trust of him. Then, as a peace offering, he added, tongue-in-cheek, “If it’s any consolation, even our resident Vulcan was left in the dark.” Gone were the days when they had shared jokes on Vulcans, but perhaps for once he could brush them up again…</p>
<p>Trip shifted unreadable eyes to him, breaking his stance. “That doesn’t make it right.” Long seconds ticked by. Then, jerking his head to the side in that endearing way of his, he hinted at a smile and added, “But it does make it more bearable.”</p>
<p>Archer heaved a sigh of relief. Now, if they could only go back to their mission of exploration…</p>
<p>------</p>
<p>Trip was dead on his feet, but before going to his quarters there was a detour he had to make.</p>
<p>When he entered Sickbay, Malcolm was lying in the closest biobed, with Phlox hovering about him. Perhaps he had come too soon, he mused, but he wanted to check on his friend before he himself passed out in his quarters.</p>
<p>“Hey Doc,” he said, hoping that Phlox would not boot him out.</p>
<p>“Commander!” Phlox greeted him instead, “I was going to page you. Anything to report to your Doctor?”</p>
<p>Trip saw the physician give him an assessing look and cringed: after the last two days he wasn’t exactly the picture of health. “Ah, just a bump on the head,” he said, dismissively. “Nothing to worry about.”</p>
<p>Phlox came up to him. “Have you perhaps taken lessons from Mr. Reed beside target practice?” he bantered with one of his smiles.</p>
<p>“Ah, no,” Trip joked back, “I could never hope to equal his fine arts!”</p>
<p>“Indeed.”</p>
<p>As the Doctor passed his tricorder over him, Trip glanced at his friend. His injury had been cleaned and dressed and Phlox even seemed to have found the time to remove the remaining traces of the prosthetics. Only that ridiculously long red hair, so out of character, and the beard remained, which made a fierce contrast with Malcolm's paleness. </p>
<p>“How’s your patient?” </p>
<p>“He lost a bit of blood, but his injury is not serious.” Phlox lowered his device. “And you have passed the test,” he cheerfully added, “but do get some rest, I can give you something to relax.”</p>
<p>“A good night’s sleep is all I crave right now,” Trip reassured him. “Don’t worry, the moment I touch my pillow I’ll be in dreamland.”</p>
<p>Malcolm stirred. He blinked a couple of times against the bright lights of Sickbay, trying to focus, then turned to look at him. “Trip? What happened?” he asked in a woozy voice, still not quite there. He raised his hand to rub his eyes, but Phlox brought it back to his side.</p>
<p>“Try not to pull out your IV-line, Lieutenant,” he warned. “I’m trying to replace some of the blood you left on the outpost.” He turned to Trip. “Well, I’ll let you do the explanations, Commander,” he said. “Just don’t stay too long, you both need to rest.” With that he went off.</p>
<p>Malcolm sighed a sigh of malcontent. “Was that Phlox? What am I doing in…”</p>
<p>Trip literally watched the confusion vanish from Malcolm’s gaze. “Did we catch him?” he enquired, eyes wide open now though his voice remained weak.</p>
<p>“Yeah, the cavalry saved the day.”</p>
<p>“Cavalry…” Malcolm winced. “What are you talking about?”</p>
<p>“Your Second in Command. Bernhard showed up with a couple of your guys, just in time, too. You were out cold, and I was a sitting duck...”</p>
<p>Malcolm closed his eyes again, looking relieved. “That’s twice I saved your skin in one day,” he breathed out.</p>
<p>Trust Malcolm to remember that little detail. “I guess I owe you big,” Trip said. But his friend was already slipping back into oblivion.</p>
<p>------</p>
<p>“Have you seen him?” Mayweather asked, as he joined Hoshi at a table in the Mess hall.</p>
<p>Hoshi’s lips curved slightly up, her eyes dancing. “No. Have you?” she enquired, oozing curiosity, as she held her fork poised in front of her mouth.</p>
<p>“I almost caught a glimpse of him when he was released from Sickbay,” Travis said, “but the turbo-lift doors closed. He must be a sight!”</p>
<p>“Well, I’m just glad he’s alive.” Hoshi sighed. “It must have been difficult for Captain Archer to keep his fake death a secret.”</p>
<p>Mayweather snorted. “That’s one way of seeing it,” he said, with a lopsided smirk.</p>
<p>Hoshi gave him a frown of disapproval. “I know what you’re thinking, Ensign, and it’s not nice. The Captain must have had a good reason for not informing anyone, not even his senior staff.”</p>
<p>“Indeed, he had. He was following orders.”</p>
<p>They both turned to the voice of their Vulcan SIC.</p>
<p>“Commander,” they greeted her. They straightened in their seats. A reprimand was due, for commenting on the Captain’s actions, but instead…</p>
<p>“It is agreeable to have Lieutenant Reed back,” T’Pol said. “He is a… crucial member of this crew.”</p>
<p>She nodded and left.</p>
<p>Travis looked at Hoshi. Hoshi looked at Travis. </p>
<p>“You know what?” Hoshi asked. Travis gave her a blinding smile. “She missed him,” they burst out in unison.</p>
<p>------</p>
<p>Trip thought it was time for a visit. Two days had passed since Malcolm had been released from Sickbay and the man still hadn’t been seen in his beloved Armoury – or elsewhere around the ship, for that matter. He himself had been extra busy and had not passed by, but frankly now he was starting to get a bit worried. So, he grabbed a couple of beers and went to ring the doorbell of a certain Lieutenant.</p>
<p>“Hope Phlox hasn’t forbidden you to drink,” he said to the man when the door swished open.</p>
<p>Malcolm gave him one of his sly smiles. “Ah – we just won’t tell him.”</p>
<p>Trip stepped into the room, then hesitated. “It’s not that you’re on any meds that might…”</p>
<p>Malcolm shook his head.</p>
<p>Trip put the two bottles down on the desk and turned to have a good look at his friend. “So, how have ya been?” Malcolm looked better. Definitely. He still had his arm in a sling but seemed to have regained his strength. His beard was gone, although his hair, now trimmed to regulation length, was still that striking colour of red.</p>
<p>Unexpectedly, the man’s reply was not his usual fine routine but a vague, “Resting, as per Doctor’s orders.” </p>
<p>Trip chuckled, dropping to sit in Malcolm’s chair. “And since when does Lieutenant Malcolm Reed obediently follow Doctor’s orders? Müller has been goin’ nuts without you.”</p>
<p>“I doubt it, I’ve trained him well, as you could see.”</p>
<p>While Malcolm turned his back to him and busied himself opening the bottles, Trip scratched his head. Normally, his friend would be chomping at the bit to return to work. </p>
<p>“Ya know,” he poked, “those cranial ridges and aquiline nose really suited you, made you look fierce.” That elicited a grunt.</p>
<p>“I’m still itchy from whatever Phlox used to make them stick,” Malcolm complained.</p>
<p>“Not to mention the long, fiery mane and beard. Frightening,” Trip went on, unfazed.</p>
<p>This time Malcolm turned to give him a silent glare. So that was it. The man was self-conscious about his looks. He probably thought it inappropriate to appear before the crew with his hair on fire like a rock star. Trip smiled to himself. As a matter of fact, there was a wager on who would first catch a glimpse of the pristine Lieutenant Reed with his new hairstyle, and it practically involved the entire crew.</p>
<p>“Here,” Malcolm said, interrupting his musings and handing him a beer, “stop talking nonsense.”</p>
<p>Trip took a swig. They sat in companionable silence, shared a few jokes, talked of this and that.</p>
<p>“So, how long are you still going to stay cooped up in here?” Trip finally said, getting up to leave.</p>
<p>“I’m due back tomorrow, on light duty.”</p>
<p>Malcolm was probably unaware that he was raking a hand through the cause of his anxiety. Trip couldn’t help a bit of ribbing. “Good, because tomorrow is movie night.”</p>
<p>“Yes? I doubt I’ll be up to it.”</p>
<p>“Ya can’t do that to me, Malcolm,” Trip pretended to complain, shaking a finger at him. “I’ve scheduled a film specially for you.” That perked the man’s attention.</p>
<p>“Explosions?” the Armoury Officer asked in anticipation.</p>
<p>“A classic. Hunt for Red October.”</p>
<p>There was a groan. “Not too fond of submarines, actually.”</p>
<p>“If you prefer, The Red Violin, then”</p>
<p>“TRIP!”</p>
<p>Malcolm pushed him towards the door, opened it, and with a last gentle shove sent him out of his quarters.</p>
<p>Before he knew it, Trip had turned and was blurting out, “I’m glad you’re not dead. The ship wasn’t the same without you.”</p>
<p>There had been no trace of humour in the words, just a deep sense of relief that his best friend was still alive. Malcolm shot him an uncomfortable look. He never liked being the centre of attention.</p>
<p>“So am I – glad that I’m not dead,” he huffed out, in his deep, baritone voice.</p>
<p>“Promise you won’t die any time soon?” Trip joked, starting backwards on his way, with a playful smile.</p>
<p>Malcolm narrowed his eyes dangerously. “All I can promise, right now, is that if you ever mention the word red you will be a dead man yourself.”</p>
<p>Trip chuckled. “Fair enough. Sweet dreams, Loo-tenant.”</p>
<p>------</p>
<p>Thank you again to those who have reviewed this story. I'm working at a new adventure but it's slow going at the time.</p>
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